


Alpas

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Van Helsing (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Battle, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 07:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: She was afraid.





	Alpas

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Netflix's "Van Helsing" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I recently got into "Van Helsing" and fell in love with Flesh (Phil) and the Phil x Lucky pairing. This fic is inspired by 2x01/2x02 where we examine Lucky's perspective of meeting Phil/Flesh for the first time. I wanted to examine a possible take on Lucky's backstory, and how that shaped her initial thoughts about Phil/Flesh.
> 
> Warnings: canon appropriate violence, vampires, blood drinking, past trauma, hurt/comfort, drama, light angst.

She was afraid.

She could admit it because she was alone.

There was no one left to be strong for.

No one to take comfort from the act.

No one left to help her muster her pride.

No one left to force her to get the hell over it and get the job done.

Her ego usually took care of all that. It always had, even before the Rising. Always vying for a seat at the big boys table. More comfortable getting her hands dirty, learning new shit and earning respect than sitting cooped up in an office somewhere, manicured and made-up and hating every second of it.

Her dad had loved it. Calling her his 'Jane of all Trades.' Giving her a tool box and a chance at an apprenticeship at his buddy's shop as a graduation present rather than a dress to prom. She spent her first year elbow deep on grease, metal shavings and misogyny, but she'd never looked back.

She'd gotten certified and then traveled around for a while, doing a stint in the Peace Corps. Spent a year in South America fixing junker cars on the cheap and sipping tequila in a pay by the month motel three steps from the beach. Cannibalizing parts of even shittier cars to make them work. Forced to get creative, to learn new things and experiment. Watching Old Three Finger Pierre stick his mangled hand into the motor of an old VW Beatle while it was  _fucking running_  just to show her some black magic bullshit that could bring even the deadest car back to life, at least for a couple hundred miles or so.

She had her own shop by the time the Rising came around. Had three master mechanics and a bunch of greasy overalls working for her. Managing them all without breaking a sweat, while still putting up with a weekly phone call from home where her mother despaired that she would ever settle down.

All that experience made it easy to shove the parts of her that wanted to tremble deep in that lock-box in the back of her mind. The one where she kept all the memories that hurt. The good and the bad. The same one she'd pushed all her secret hopes into at the end of the first year before slamming the lid and wrapping it up in heavy metal chains. Like the hope she'd live long enough to be able to sleep through the night again or watch the sunrise on a beach somewhere without a semi-auto in her lap. She didn't believe in Denver or some city above the clouds. Not even that woman the others talked about around the fire at night. The one the vampires wanted dead.

She didn't believe in fairy-tales.

Her own dreams were impossible enough.

She was practical that way.

But what she  _did_  believe in was if they wanted something - the fairy-tale, the dream, a future or just one more day - they were going to have to fight for it themselves. Because no one else was going to. No higher power. No nameless savior. No lucky break. They were on their own.

And right now they were getting their asses kicked.

So when she heard a voice - a man calling out for someone -  _someone called Vanessa_  - she followed it. Determined to find someone strong enough to help her finish her mission and get them both out of this mess.

She couldn't do it alone, after all.

Pride could get fucked.

She needed backup.

* * *

She hadn't counted on liking what she saw as much as she did when the dust cleared. Revealing a man who knew his way around a semi-auto. Glasses, blue eyes, tight jeans that were  _more_  than complimentary. He was shorter, compact and slim with an open face. But then again, her life had always been full of surprises.

* * *

_"Vanessa! Vanessa!"_

She'd started off with a group of eight. By the time she'd found him she was the only one left. She'd managed to grab some of their explosives before getting away, enough that she had some to spare as she worked her way through the corridors.

And a good thing too.

The halls were thick with them.

She'd just set off a charge to deal with the ones ahead when she heard the spit of gunfire from the floor below. Giving her enough time to book it to the stairs and take cover. Wincing when he started calling for that woman again. Knowing there was no way to warn him that the ceiling was probably about to cave in.

Hopefully he'd still be in one piece by the time she got to him.

* * *

_"Look, I can't keep wandering around in here with you. I need to find the woman I told you about. It's important."_

_"You're crazy."_

_"Yeah, maybe so, but I have to try."_

_"You're in love with her or something?"_

_"No, it's nothing like that. She's the one we've been talking about since this thing began. She might be a cure for this whole thing."_

_"There's no such thing. There is no cure. We have to kill them all. We have to kill them until there's no more left. Then we'll have a cure."_

_"I don't think I believe that."_

_"Yeah, I have a job to do. Let's blow the generator in this place. What? That's what I believe in. So, are you going to help me or are you gonna chase after some ghost? I'm Lucky by the way."_

_"Phil, that's my name, Phil."_

_"Huh. Phil, you don't look like a Phil. Fine, help me, okay? Do that and if we come out with our lives then I'll help you find this Vanessa person. Fair enough? "_

_"Yeah. Yeah, okay."_

* * *

He didn't look like a Phil.

More to the point, he hesitated when he said it.

Or at least the phrasing was off.

Like he wasn't used to hearing it or saying it.

Or both.

Which was fine. People had their reasons just as much as they were entitled to them. Sometimes you didn't want a reminder of your old life - the people you'd lost. Sometimes you wanted distance. Sometimes you wanted to start over.

She knew she was one to talk, using a nickname and all.

Though, in her defense, she'd gone by 'Lucky' since she was a kid.

Never did like her name that much anyway.

And the truth was, she didn't think much about it until they found Mohamed in the woods, barely conscious and wounded.

The fact the kid had called him "Flesh" stuck with her like a sore on the roof of her mouth. Wondering deep down if she even wanted to know as they dragged the kid back to the field hospital.

Names had power after all.

Maybe it said something that Phil might have told her his real name after all.

Maybe it said something about his past that Mohamed had called him 'Flesh'.

Maybe none of them had the right to judge, even if it was.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- alpas - to become free, to break loose.


End file.
